


Low

by todisturbtheuniverse



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Depression, Established Relationship, F/F, Friendship, Kleptomania, Medication, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1914555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by clothtunics on Tumblr: Hawke is on antidepressants, and Isabela suffers from occasional bouts of kleptomania. It’s not perfect, but they have each other, at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Low

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tablecrumbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tablecrumbs/gifts).



"Hey, sweetness."

Hawke didn’t move. Hawke  _couldn’t_ move. She would stay pressed to this mattress, buried beneath these blankets, until she expired of hunger and thirst. At least it was comfortable, she reflected, her fingers tightening only a fraction on the quilt. The pillow was nice, the sheets soft. The whole thing smelled faintly of Isabela, the faint vanilla-and-brown-sugar scent of her soap. Hawke inhaled. She wouldn’t forget to  _breathe_ , at least.

The bed dipped; her body rolled toward the source, just a bit. A faintly calloused hand dropped to her hair, smoothing it out of her eyes. “Rough day, huh?” Isabela sighed. “Me, too. Did you take your pills?”

Hawke tried to think back as far as that morning. It should have been easy—it wasn’t as if she’d done a damn thing since then—but time stretched out, untraceable. She couldn’t remember. She hated that she couldn’t remember. _Fuck_ , she thought, a burst of venom amid the apathy.  _When was the last time you did a single damn thing right?_

Isabela gave her scalp a light scratch with the pads of her fingers, as though she could read Hawke’s mind and wanted to ease it. “It’s all right,” she murmured. “I’ll count them.”

There was another shift as Isabela reached out to pluck the bottle of pills from the nightstand. She dumped them out into her palm and started counting, a faint murmur of numbers under her breath. Hawke listened, eyes still closed tight.

"Oh, you took them, silly," Isabela said, dumping the pills back into the bottle. "For all the good they did you, hmm? We should make you an appointment with Anders. See if we can switch you to something that works better."

Hawke buried her face in her pillow. The mere idea of getting out of this bed at some ambiguous future time—of getting dressed, of being carted back to the doctor—was intolerable.

"Mind if I join you?" Isabela went on, already shucking off her boots. "Think I could do with a lie-down, too."

At this, Hawke managed a muffled grumble of assent. Isabela chuckled, followed quickly by a sigh of relief as she wriggled out of her jeans. She was so cheerful—so patient. And Hawke was so undeserving. She felt another stab of that venom, deep and burning, accusatory. Isabela deserved better than this. Better than looking after her.

But she slid beneath the covers and threw an arm over Hawke’s waist, and Hawke didn’t push her away, because she was selfish, selfish,  _selfish_.

"If I tell you a secret," Isabela said, tugging Hawke a bit closer, "will you promise not to tell anyone?"

Hawke scraped up a worn laugh for that. “Who on earth would I tell?”

"Point," Isabela agreed. "But it’s the  _principle_ of the thing.”

"Fine," Hawke said. "I promise. I won’t even tell Dog."

In the next room over, their mabari whined.

"There’s my girl," Isabela said, eyes squinted up with her smile, and pulled a long strand of pearls from where it had been hidden in her cleavage.

For a long moment, Hawke just stared at the beautiful jewelry, pooled between them in the nest of the covers. Isabela nibbled her lip. She always did that when she felt guilty.

"Bela," Hawke said at last—not disappointed, not sad, just sympathetic.

"I know,” Isabela sighed. “I’ve been doing so well. But they were  _there_ , and we just got them in today, and aren’t they gorgeous?” She touched one pearl with a reverent fingertip. “But I’ll put them back tomorrow, I swear. The guilt is worse than the pressure to steal them in the first place. I hate regressing like this.”

It took a lot of effort, but Hawke cupped Isabela’s cheek in her palm. And it was worth it—the soft warmth of her skin, the way she turned into Hawke’s touch.

"It’s okay," Hawke said, softly. "We all have bad days. I don’t think I even remembered to eat today. I’ve just been laying here, occasionally wishing I had the strength to kick Dog off the bed.” The mabari whined again. “Eventually he got the message that I didn’t want company,” she continued, “but, you know. Happens to the best of us.”

Isabela pressed a kiss into Hawke’s palm. “And we  _are_ the best.”

"The very best," Hawke agreed. She didn’t believe it, not about herself, but Isabela needed her. Isabela needed her to be who she had been. Just for a few minutes. She could do that. If she couldn’t, Isabela would pick up the slack, of course, but Hawke would hate herself, and she didn’t exactly need more reasons for that. She had enough already.

"Oh, sweet thing," Isabela said, closing her eyes. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Hawke snorted, but didn’t contradict her. She tried to redirect all that burning in her gut to more positive things. She was cuddling with Isabela, which was nice. She’d remembered her pills this morning, even if she didn’t  _remember_ that she’d remembered them. And the late afternoon sun was warm, streaming in through the half-shuttered blinds, and there was a puddle of pearls to admire, and she was not okay, damn it, but that was fine. For now, there were a few good things, and she savored each one of them.


End file.
